


I'll Crawl Home To Her

by periwinklepromise



Series: Ladies of Marvel Bingo [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Hair Braiding, Hiding Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, POV Maria Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 17:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepromise/pseuds/periwinklepromise
Summary: The op went FUBAR, she's cracked at least two ribs, and all she wants to do is gohome.





	I'll Crawl Home To Her

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Whumptober prompt Secret Injury and my Ladies of Marvel Bingo, square N1: IMAGE, posted below

Some of the lower ranked SHIELD agents play poker on the weekends, when the world is quiet and most of them are stateside. They invited Maria once. She put up a token protest and then spent three hours slowly bleeding every player dry. They do not invite her anymore, which sits just fine with her; she has better things to do with her time.

But a good poker face is helpful in their line of work. Especially on days like today, when it became necessary for her to join in on some fieldwork when the op went FUBAR but they couldn't lose their chance, and she manages to crack at least two ribs _and _mess up her hair.

She slips through Medical easy as breathing, fills out all the necessary paperwork for that mess of an op, deflects first Fury's and then Coulson's concerns, and three hours after their return to HQ, she is able to sign out a vehicle from SHIELD so she can drive herself home. Which may be a bad idea, she realizes, the seat belt twisting against her ribs painfully every time she reaches to use a signal.

Maria wants to gun it, stomp on the pedal and zip through traffic and get _home_, but she promised Tasha she would only drive that way for SHIELD business, nothing personal, and she doesn't want to break that promise.

So she takes shallow breaths and twists her knuckles against the steering wheel and parks the car thirty minutes longer than she really finds acceptable. She sits there, still gripping the wheel, glaring at it as she finds some extra reserves of strength for the next few days. Tasha probably already knows the op went to shit, so she can pass off most of the exhaustion onto that, and Tasha is always good about respecting her space until Maria makes it clear she's in the mood, so she won't have to worry about that either. It just feels too much like a lie, and Maria tries not to lie to her.

She sighs slowly and exits the car. The walk to the door is easy, the climb up the stairs less so, and she takes another resettling breath at the front door. Then she's letting herself in, tossing things down on the low entry desk where Tasha stores half a dozen knives, and sparing a glance at the mirror above it.

Maria looks like hell. Shadows under her eyes, hair half torn out of her bun, scrapes on her cheeks and forehead that Harrison down in Medical swiped then left to breathe, standard SHIELD tac gear unzipped far lower than she would normally stoop to while on duty. She barely remembers doing it. This is … fine.

Tasha is suddenly there in front of her, and Maria just grimaces and then smiles softly.

“Status,” she inquires.

“Acceptable,” Maria responds easily. That doesn't count as a lie, not really.

Tasha stares at her, cold and clinical, then nods. “I heard. There's tiramisu in the kitchen.” She turns away, graceful as ever.

Maria takes a moment to watch her go, holding back a wistful sigh. She wants to dive into Tasha's arms and stay there for a week. But she can't, so she moves to their bedroom and struggles to peel off her uniform without making any noise. Then she has to force on some looser clothing without making any noise either. She snags a hair tie off the bathroom counter, swings by the kitchen to grab the entire tiramisu and two spoons just in case Tasha wants some, and plops herself down on the floor in front of her partner. Maria holds up the hair tie. “Will you do my hair?”

“Of course, _rypka_. What would you like?” she asks softly, already cradling Maria in between her legs and running gentle fingers through her hair.

“I don't care,” Maria admits, “Just get it out of my way.” She drags her spoon through the dessert and lets it melt into her mouth with a moan.

Tasha clicks her tongue and guides her head back to sitting up straight. “You will ruin my work,” she scolds lightly, massaging at her scalp.

Maria wants to melt into her hands, roll her head back and her chest out and let herself feel, but her ribs are cracked, and Tasha will be working on one of her intricate braids soon, so she sits up straight and gingerly works through the tiramisu. Tasha doesn't make it herself – time-consuming and annoying – but she knows Maria's favorite place to buy it from, and that shouldn't mean anything, because Tasha remembers everything anyone tells her, but it means something to Maria all the same.

Her partner's fingers are careful and competent as they move about her hair, barely tugging, softly twisting. When Tasha rubs at her neck then across her shoulders, Maria knows she's finished, but she stays still and closes her eyes, relaxes into her lover's hands and lets her worries wash away.

“Two or three?” Tasha asks her quietly, still rubbing gently at her shoulders and down her arms.

Maria mumbles, not comprehending.

“Your ribs,” she clarifies. “Do you have two cracked or three?”

She should have known that Tasha would notice, but she had hoped she could get away with it. “I don't know for sure,” Maria admits with a small sigh. “Probably three.”

Tasha runs her hands all the way down Maria's arms and kisses at her temple as she's bent over. “I will find you the nice gel packs.” She slips out around her and guides Maria to her feet, leading her over to their bedroom.

Maria sighs as gently as possible, sliding into her side of the bed. Tasha joins her soon after, tucking in ice packs around her ribs and the softer throw pillows along her sides to keep her from turning onto her side in her sleep like she tends to do.

When Tasha pulls back, Maria scoops her close her for a kiss, long and soft. “Thank you.”

“You are home, _rypka_.”


End file.
